


Bohemian Chic

by signifying_nothing



Category: VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: College!AU, M/M, bff!hoseok, coffeeshop!au, that might change idk, this is some Cute Shit™ as of now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: Hunting is, according to one of Taehyung's favorite books, like life, in that it is made up chiefly of waiting.Taehyung is not very good at waiting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is self indulgent and cute and i'm just trying to clear out my little 'finished works' folder before i leave for a week and a half  
> enjoy, and see you all next week!

Hunting is, according to one of Taehyung's favorite books, like life, in that it is made up chiefly of waiting.

Taehyung is _not_ very good at waiting.

It's not that he's impatient, either, it's just that he's _eager,_ he's excited, he's thrilled with the world and his place in it, he wants to see it all explore it all, and mostly he just wants to see if, if maybe Jung Taekwoon would, would maybe like, want to go out to coffee sometime or something?

God, he hates himself.

He rips off his clothes and tugs on another set, glaring at himself in the mirror, eternally unsatisfied with what he sees. He likes to wear loose, flowing clothes—hippie clothes, as Jeongguk so loves to remind him—but those are _childish_ and he is _not_ a child, he is a grown ass man who is going to a get together tonight so he can _finally_ be properly introduced to the productions grad student who works in his art professors office when his professor isn't having hours and maybe be able to string two words together at once.

Maybe.

Shit.

Taehyung rips off this outfit, too, and throws himself to his bed, grabbing his phone and texting Hoseok before screaming into his pillow and kicking his legs, having a little tantrum for himself before his phone rings.

“What,” he says, glum.

_What do you mean you're not coming?_

“I mean I'm not going,” Taehyung says, feeling stupid and emotional and frustrated. “I don't want to.”

_You, Kim Taehyung, are a liar and a cad. What's wrong?_

“Nothing,” he almost hiccups, and Hoseok's voice audibly gentles.

_Taehyungah, what's wrong? You were looking forward to coming, weren't you?_

“I don't want to,” he says, fighting to keep his voice dry. “I don't want to. He doesn't even know who I am and I can't find anything comfortable to wear and I look stupid 'cos Jiminie fucked up my hair and I just don't want to go. I don't want to.”

He sniffles, rubs at the tears stubbornly squeezing out of his eyes. He's always been emotional, never ashamed of being upset or being hurt, but it still makes him feel like an idiot.

 _Do you want me to come over and help you?_ Hoseok asks. _Wonsikie is going to meet me there, so I can come and help you if you want, okay?_

“I don't want to go,” Taehyung whispers.

 _I'll be over in a few minutes,_ Hoseok assures. _I'll bring you a macchiato._

He hangs up the phone and Taehyung goes to unlock his door before slumping back down to his bed, rubbing at his eyes. He just feels so _stupid._ Taekwoon is all... Tall and dark and good looking and put together and he's about ninety-eight percent sure that everyone in the school wants to date Taekwoon, so why the fuck would he choose Kim Taehyung of all people? Kim Taehyung, absent-minded and eccentric so-called genius, who wears hippie clothes and purple-lensed glasses (and sunglasses) and keeps his hair long and his fingernails painted, who works until the early hours of the morning but can't manage to get to class on time?

Taehyung is kind of a fucking hot mess compared to Taekwoon. Maybe not even a hot mess, just... A mess. Why the hell would Taekwoon want to... Have anything to do with him.

He wallows in these thoughts until Hoseok arrives with a rhythmic knock. He pushes the door open, takes one look at the floor, then at Taehyung's hair, and nods to himself. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I can see how you think this is a disaster, but don't worry,” he offers Taehyung a macchiato. Caramel, his favorite. “I can figure this out.”

“Can't,” Taehyung says, looking mournfully through his dark-violet streaked lavender hair.

“Can,” Hoseok nods. “Look, here. He reaches into Taehyungs closet, rummages for a long-sleeved, billowy cream-colored tunic shirt and mossy green pants. A dark vest, just a few shades darker than the pants. He picks a pair of dark brown sandals, rifles through Taehyungs jewelry and accessories for earth-tones in green and purple. He sets everything on the bed and grins. “There.”

“I'll look like a hippie,” Taehyung says. Hoseok blinks.

“...Yeah, that's. Kind of your thing, Tae.”

“Yeah, but...” Taehyung trails off, looking down at his bare feet. His nails are painted a bright and shiny copper, like a new penny. His fingernails match. “It's stupid, right. I mean it makes me look stupid.”

“Who said that,” Hoseok asks, sitting beside him and wrapping one arm over his shoulder. “Hey, Taehyungah, can I tell you something? If you meet him pretending to be something you aren't, someday you're gonna have to show him who you are. It's better to meet him as who you are, right? A crazy hippie genius.”

“I'm not a genius,” Taehyung says, though he knows it's not true, not really. He is kind of a genius. But he doesn't like to make a big deal of it, people get weird when someone acknowledges their own innate knowledge and talent that they've improved with time and obsessive dedication. Most of the weirdness isn't nice, either.

“Crazy hippie, then,” Hoseok says, and Taehyung punches him in the side. Weakly. “Come on, pouty. Get dressed, I'll do your hair.”

Hoseok's presence, as it always does, balms Taehyung's irritation. Most of his friends just make the situation worse, even though they don't mean to—somehow Hoseok became fluent in _Taehyung_ without Taehyung ever noticing, and Taehyung is so, so grateful. He can't ever hope to express just how grateful he is.

For the moment, he lets Hoseok oil and blow out his hair. Lets him apply makeup to his face to accentuate his already large eyes and soft mouth. Taehyung knows he's pretty—objectively, he knows that he has attractive features—but he always feels a little more secure when someone else is making sure that everyone else will find him pretty, too. It's a weird insecurity, that he can't trust himself. Just like he can't really make himself believe that he'll never walk off the edge of a cliff, just because it's there.

“There,” Hoseok says, voice warm. “All done, and right on time. C'mon, we should get there fashionably late if we leave now.”

“I'm still not sure—”

“Too late,” Hoseok says. “I spent all that time on your face—whether you talk to Taekwoon or not, you're going to go show off how gorgeous you are.”

And given that it's the artists request Taehyung acquiesces, and allows himself to be tugged along.

~

Taehyung isn't really fond of parties. But events like this one—arts department events—these aren't _so_ bad. He usually avoids them because he just... Doesn't feel like he fits in, because he feels like a pariah no matter how hard he tries to integrate into the group so when he follows Hoseok in he tries, ineffectually, to hide behind him. Hoseok tugs him along to where Wonsik is standing, talking to some other students—only one of whom Taehyung knows, a modern dance major named Hakyeon who had participated in a project Taehyung did last year, photographing the dancers performing a ballet.

Taekwoon is there, too. Taehyung wants to run. He wants to _run,_ but he doesn't. Hoseok wouldn't let him, anyway. He's holding on to Taehyung's hands, fingers laced as he walks him toward the small group. Choi Junhong turns and grins, waves.

“Hyung,” he says, and Hoseok lifts his captured hand in a wave. “Who'd you bring?”

“Aah, Kim Taehyung,” Hoseok says, grinning. Taehyung can _hear_ his grin and for a moment he hates him. What the fuck, did he have to _out him_ like that, fuck, now everyone knows he's here.

“Fine Arts Kim Taehyung?” Taehyung hears Hakyeon say, and Hoseok nods. “...Why is he hiding behind you,” Hakyeon asks.

“He's self-conscious about his dye job,” Hoseok sniffs. “So if any of you say anything nasty, I reserve the right as his best friend to kick you in the junk and then break both of your kneecaps, do you understand.”

“ _Hyung,_ ” Taehyung whines, shoving him, blushing terribly. Hakyeon peers around Hoseok's head and shoulder and Taehyung blinks at him before turning back to the base of Hoseok's neck, just about ready to die of mortification.

“It's pretty,” Hakyeon says. “It's really pretty, Taehyung, why don't you like it?”

Taehyung shrugs and wishes he could fall into the floor.

“I like it,” Taehyung hears Jung Taekwoon say. “It's the color of foxgloves.”

 _Foxgloves._ Taehyung knows he means the flowers, but all he can think of is a lavender, white and plum fox nestled beneath winter trees with thin black branches like tiny, clawlike fingers. It's a pretty image. Maybe it's just that Taekwoon's voice sounds like art to him.

He mumbles out a thank you and soon after Hoseok shakes him off with an apologetic smile, motioning to a place he can sit down, relatively out of the way. He makes his way to the couches and sits down, crosses his legs in front of himself and pulls his sketchbook into his lap, along with a few pens.

He's a little more than halfway into his sketch of the fox and the dead tree when someone sits down. Not next to him but near him, and he glances up nervously.

Jung Taekwoon is looking at him and Taehyung feels his heart stop in his chest. Fuck.

They look at one another in silence for a moment before Taekwoon asks, “You don't like parties, do you.”

“Not really,” Taehyung replies, trying not to mumble, not to outright die of mortification. Again. “Not... Really my scene,” he admits, proud of himself for managing four words strung together into something closely resembling a sentence.

“Too noisy?” Taekwoon asks, and Taehyung isn't sure how he can hear Taekwoon's voice over all the gaiety happening all around them.

“Crowded,” he says. “...Busy? There's just a lot to take in, and I can't take it all in, so it... Sensory overload.”

“I see,” Taekwoon says. There's a moment of silence, and then: “Is that why you don't come to department functions? I don't think I've ever seen you here.”

“Um,” Taehyung says. “I'm not really. I mean it's.” It falls out of his mouth without permission. “A lot of people don't like me so I kind of avoid situations like this, so I can't, I don't know, rub more people the wrong way than I already do.”

Taekwoon blinks at him, slowly, like a confused housecat. “People don't like you?” he asks. “I was under the impression that you're kind of... The darling of your department.”

“No one in my major likes me,” Taehyung mutters, closing his notebook. Maybe he'll catch a taxi home. Hoseok is dancing with Wonsik, laughing, and very clearly enjoying himself. He shouldn't be a killjoy. “It's fine. They don't have to. I'm not here to make friends.” It sounds like a lie, even to himself. It does upset him. Quite a lot, actually. Taehyung doesn't enjoy being disliked, especially by people who share his interests and hobbies. It's very lonesome, no matter how much Jimin and Jeongguk and Hoseok try to keep him from feeling _too_ alone in the drift. Besides. Jeongguk is spending all of his time with Jinki, and it's nearly impossible to pull Jimin off of Namjoon's dick these days, and Hoseok... Well. Hoseok has Wonsik. And Taehyung has his ridiculous crush on Jung Taekwoon, who is looking at him with his head cocked to one side, staring intently as though he's figuring out where all of Taehyungs seams are. Taehyung feels like he's being attacked. Unwound. Flayed.

“That seems kind of lonely,” Taekwoon says.

“That's because it is,” Taehyung says, trying not to bristle, trying not to get ridiculously emotional and do something stupid like _cry._ God, he's so stupid. He's not supposed to talk to Taekwoon like this, he's not supposed to be _exposing_ himself like this, not supposed to be showing his soft spots, that's the opposite of what he means to be doing. _It's better to meet him as who you are, right?_ Hoseok's words come back but they're a very cold and awkward comfort.

“I need to go,” he says, suddenly and tightly. Very in control. He feels like he's going to cry, like he's going to start screaming, and he doesn't want Taekwoon to see it. “I, um. Tell Hoseok I caught a taxi or something,” he says, and Taekwoon is looking at him, eyebrow delicately furrowed.

“Taehyungah?”

“I need to go,” he says, breathes, and in his rush he leaves his sketchbook on the couch.

~

Taehyung doesn't realize he's left his sketchbook until he's already locked the door of his dorm and stripped off his clothes and scraped the makeup off his face. He's in sweats and a beanie and he grabs his paints and pens, his canvases and his brushes to head to the arts building. The studios are always open, as long as students aren't looking to go into the computer labs, so he finds his favorite one—the little one, right on the end—and he walks inside, sets up a canvas, and he paints.

A boy, alone on a bed of stars, reaching for the ocean above his head—for the long, broad body of a humpback whale, black and white in green water, traced in silver and dotted in violet. All the warmth is in the sky where the stars are: orange, red and neon green. Taehyung hates it. He leaves it alone to dry and curls up in one of the beanbag chairs to bury his face in his hands and cry, feeling stupid.

Feeling very alone.

~

Hoseok isn't mad at him. He's not mad, he's not even disappointed and Taehyung knows that, but he's still shamefaced when Hoseok shows up at his room four days later with his sketchbook and a caramel macchiato in hand. He's been painting endless things—bottomless things, things past the realm of human understanding but not abstract concepts. Just things without names that live past the edges of where the human consciousness is comfortable roaming. It's the theme of his end-of-year portfolio, so at least he's getting some work done.

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, and Taehyung shakes his head.

“Not really.”

“Gonna be okay?”

“Not sure.”

“Taekwoon's not mad or anything,” Hoseok says, very gently. “He was worried about you.”

“Didn't need to be,” Taehyung mutters, and Hoseok sighs.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung, would you look at me, please?”

Taehyung turns to look at Hoseok, who offers out the macchiato with a smile. “Here. Taekwoon made it for you, the least you could do is drink it.”

“...Taekwoon made it?” Taehyung asked, taking the drink in both hands.

“He works at that fancy cafe off campus,” Hoseok explains. “He had your sketchbook, asked me to come and get it so you could have it back. He asked what your favorite drink was, then gave me the largest size for free.”

“Oh.”

“He's not mad at you. Not even disappointed. Just worried. I think he thinks you're cute,” Hoseok says, grinning. “He asked me to give you his number.”

“...What,” Taehyung's brain stops. “He what.”

“So here's his number,” Hoseok offers out a card from the coffee shop. “Do with it what you will. And feel better, okay? We're here if you need us.”

Hoseok learned to speak _Taehyung_ without Taehyung ever noticing, and he's gone before Taehyung manages to open his mouth again. He knows just what to do, and say.

Taehyung holds the pretty card in his hand and sips at his macchiato, smiles when he thinks about the fact that Jung Taekwoon, grad student, working at a cafe off campus, made it especially for him.

And it tastes _perfect._

 


End file.
